


Anger

by Spera_via



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spera_via/pseuds/Spera_via
Summary: Dealing with acolytes takes its toll. Even for those with hearts of stone.





	Anger

Councilor Leja Jodonn, Darth Auctus, Head of her Order’s Sphere of Galactic Influence, was slouched low in her desk chair. Her wintery locks fell, unbound around her shoulders. White strands fell across her face. Slow, rolling tears smeared dark lines down her cheeks. 

“Eight,” the Darth’s voice was low and hoarse. The agent with vivid red hair in the corner of the room snapped to attention. 

“Milord.”

“Kolto.”

Eight wasted no time in hurrying forward. Quickly he opened her desk drawer and reached for the box she kept just for this purpose. He pulled out a jar of kolto, bandages, wooden applicator sticks, and medical gloves. He worked the gloves on over his black, regulation ones. 

Delicately, Eight lifted one of her hands from the armrest. He took extra care to be gentle since her skin had been burned black by her use of Sith lightning. Golden eyes saw the burns extending up to her elbows. Farther this time, than the last.

“Damn acolytes,” she hissed as he smeared soothing kolto over her skin. “Don’t know when to quit. Don’t understand their _place_.”

Eight jerked back as sparks rippled over her skin. He waited for it to settle then went back to his work. 

He finished coating her arm, then set to carefully winding bandages over it. When that was done, he moved onto her other hand.

“You think I don’t know what they call me?” she asked after a moment of silence. “‘Frigid Bitch,’ ‘Heartless,’ ‘The worst.’ And yet they do not know what it takes to rise up to where I am. They think they can do it on… on what?” Eight had to pause again as the air around her went frigid. He held his breath as he watched frost gather around the outside of the kolto.  “Attitudes that make them think they’re more than they are? Attitudes that show they are unreliable? Unteachable? A waste of time? How is a master supposed to train them if acolytes cannot follow simple orders?”

Leja scoffed and the frost receded. Eight went back to work. A chuckle fell from her lips. Soon she was laughing. More tears fell from her eyes. More hair slid in front of her face as her mirth shook her shoulders.

“They think I don’t know,” she drawled. “Think I haven’t seen them before. Never encountered anyone quite. Like. _Them_.”

Eight set the kolto aside.

“Think they can take and take and take. Think I don’t do anything _for_ them.”

Her agent said nothing as he wrapped clean bandages over her burns.

Leja sighed heavily and slumped back against her chair. Laughter gave way to more tears. The dark streaks of make-up stretched down her cheeks making it look like spider legs draped over her pale skin.

“Eight, my hair.” 

The agent pulled off the medical gloves and gently pushed her hair out of her face. He tucked the strands behind her ears, brow creased in worry.

Bright, pale eyes glanced up and met his concerned gaze. 

“ _Don’t look at me that way_ ,” she hissed. Leja reached up and shoved his face away with a bandaged hand. The force of it made him stagger to the side and pull his fingers from her hair. Silver strands wafted back to her shoulders and settled.

When the agent had his balance, he righted himself and stood at her side waiting silently for his next order.

It came in a brusque: “Clean this up.” 

He did so. Leja slouched low again, reflective eyes fixed unseeingly on the entrance of her office.

“Get out,” the Darth snapped the moment Eight had thrown the last of the supplies away.

He saluted, then did as he was told.

Councilor Leja Jodonn, Darth Auctus, Head of the Odacai Saarai’s Sphere of Galactic Influence, slouched low in her desk chair. Her wintery locks fell, unbound around her shoulders and slow, rolling tears continued to smear dark lines down her cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a vent piece.
> 
> While Leja is the worst (think Umbridge and Miranda Priestly all in one) she is the perfect vessel to express my less-than-pleased (ie. self-pitying) feelings.


End file.
